Simple Enough
by DallaLuna
Summary: One-shot. "It was a simple enough question. 'Are you happy here'" Beauty/Beast friendship story. Short and refreshingly angst-free.


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**AN:** Yes: I know the last thing the world needs is ANOTHER BatB one-shot from the likes of me. You will find this one thankfully short and shockingly angst-free in comparison to my others, though. I had a brief reprieve from homework this evening, and I thought it might be nice to write something. So I did.

It's more of a Beast/Beauty friendship fic. You don't come to love a big, hairy creature overnight, right? There's got to be a reason.

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**Simple Enough**

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It is a simple enough question.

"Are you happy here?"

A simple question; a question I have been asked before. A question I have avoided.

But I don't this time.

Shockingly, I say, "Yes."

It is shocking not because it is a lie, but because it's the truth. Not that I think there's anything morally reprehensible about lying now and then, especially when it's to spare someone's feelings. This is not a lie, though; not even to make him feel better or to make _myself_ feel better.

"Of that I am grateful," says he, lifting his gaze to meet mine.

This subdued reaction is ten thousand times more vexing to me than any triumphant laugh or exultant smile could ever be. What he does not realize is that I am not happy as a favor to him. I could not force myself to be happy for anyone's sake. Not _sincerely _happy, at least.

I am a rotten liar and if I were not truly happy he would see it. He notices everything. He asks me about everything and he studies me when I talk, and if he doesn't _really_ listen, he at least gives the appearance of it.

And that is why I feel as I do. Part of the reason. Sometimes you are happy and there is no reason at all. Sometimes you are happy even though you're sure you really oughtn't be.

I _oughtn't_ be happy, being something of a prisoner, but I cannot bring myself to scowl as I would like.

We are sitting in the garden, as we are in the habit of doing every day in this unchanging place. It is mid-afternoon. The sun is warm on my face, and I was beginning to feel drowsy before he went and asked that trivially momentous question.

Now I am alert and abashed. I feel as if some excuse must be made for why I feel this way. Surely, under the circumstances, my change of heart can be extenuated.

You see, I came here, both willing and unwilling. I had a choice in the matter, yet no choice at all. I did what is expected of every young woman: to serve her father dutifully, whether by marriage or going to the palace of a beast so that he might live on as before. (Not that the latter is particularly commonplace, of course.) Though there are some who might balk at the notion of a man sending his daughter into such a precarious situation, it's perfectly logical (assuming that you're able to keep pesky emotions from blinding your judgment).

A father can achieve much more in the world than his daughter can. It would have been a waste for a level-headed merchant like Papa to throw away a future of certain economic prosperity for something as intangible as nobility or love.

So I came. Papa expected no less of me, and I no less of myself. Even so, I had to hate _someone_. I had to have _someone_ to blame for the hurt I felt, so I settled all my anger upon the Beast.

I never anticipated that he would care what I said and thought, or that he'd _enjoy_ sitting there for hours, just listening to me blabbering on and on about anything.

I never knew that I had so much to say, or that it would make me so happy to be able to say the words that had heretofore lingered in the back of my mind, unspoken. But I do, and it has.

If I were a better person, or a braver person, I might thank him for caring, or tell him the true magnitude of what he has done for me. But I suspect that I have done something for him, too.

The thought pleases me more than a little.

And because I hope to learn that we are neither of us indebted to the other, I decide to ask him.

"Beast?"

He nods receptively.

"Are _you_ happy?"

It is a simple enough question; a question I have never asked him before. A question I am glad to ask.

It catches him unaware. He studies me, as if to gauge my sincerity, and I just look straight back at him.

Slowly, after a moment's contemplation, he says, "I am. Yes."

I smile.

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End file.
